Drowning My Sorrows
by eulalie27
Summary: Originally for the May CBPC, but I missed the date. Set before the season finale, Bones had a drink and reflects after Booth's funeral.


**Title- "Drowning Her Sorrows"**

**Author- eulalie27**

**Summary- CBPC entry for May. Slightly AU. Following 'The Wannabe in the Weeds,' Brennan is depressed. **

**A/N: This is my first entry for the Cullen's Bull-pen Challenge. Angst will ensue. Also, I would just like to remind everyone that doesn't know that I do not own Bones or any of its plotlines or characters. If I did, the season finale would have gone very differently.**

I felt like I couldn't breathe.

As I sat by myself in the tiny bar, this was the first thing I was aware of. All through the day, I had been numb. I had been exactly as emotionless as everyone expected me to be. As a matter of fact, I probably would have scared them more if I had broken down into hysterics in the middle of the service. Instead, I stood silently in the light drizzle of early summer while everyone else around me sobbed. Numb.

And now, my first sensation of this hellish day, and all I could think about was the crushing pressure weighing down on my chest. I was almost positive that it was psychosomatic, related to the stress of the week, but this week had been so surreal that nothing was absolutely for certain.

I downed another glass of the clear amber liquid the bartender had been pouring for me. I didn't care enough to find out what it was. It did its job, and that was all that mattered.

It had all started on Tuesday. How could I have known that Pam would be there with a gun? How could I _possibly_ have known that she would try to shoot me, and he, with his stupid heroic alpha-male tendencies, would get in the way?

The past few days had been pure chaos. Emotionally drained from work as well as everything else, I had been asked to call his parents, whom I had only met once. It was bad enough that I was totally exhausted, but I am also not terribly good with people. It was a thousand times worse than any case.

And then there was Rebecca and Parker. It was hard telling Rebecca, but I was more comfortable with her than with anyone else. We are both adults, and are capable of handling such news appropriately.

But Parker… There is no easy way to tell a young child that he will never see his beloved father again. I could see the burning agony in his eyes as he tried to deny this sentence of torture, such an adult gesture for a boy so small. I had no choice but to confirm what was written on his terrified face. I could barely hold back my own tears as his face crumpled in sorrow and he began to wail.

But it is over. His funeral was today. Friday, May 16th, 2008. One of the most painful days of my life.

I'm sure the service was gorgeous. I wasn't paying attention. My thoughts were focused on the man whose corpse now lay in the coffin at the front of the church, the very same coffin that should contain my body. I was meant to be killed that day. Not him. Not a young, intelligent, good-looking, honest, funny FBI agent with his whole life ahead of him. All I could think was, _That should be me_. Over and over again, it played through my head, seeping into every crevice of my brain until I could think nothing else.

I tried to convince myself that I didn't care. I brushed away tears welling in my eyes as they lowered the white casket containing his body into the ground. I managed to comfort his family without bursting into loud sobs. My guilt trip was over. What was done, was done. I couldn't change anything. The FBI would get me a new partner. But it wouldn't be the same.

Hunched over my drink in the dive off the interstate, a lone tear slipped down my pale cheek. I didn't notice until the seat to my left creaked under someone's weight as they sat.

"Are you okay?" There was no mistaking the concern voice as that of Angela.

They were the words I had been dreading. I had gone all week, and nobody had asked me anything of the sort. I was doing so well. And now, genuine worry from my best friend combined with the large amount of alcohol I had consumed throughout the evening, my emotional walls were beginning to break down.

"How-" I swallowed when my voice cracked. "How did you find me?"

"That microchip I had planted in your phone really works." I thought she was serious until she shook her head and replied, "I followed you. I wanted to make sure you wouldn't do anything stupid."

"Like what, kill myself?" What would give her the idea that I would react with anything that extreme.

Her silence answered my question.

"Ange," I began, but she held up a hand, effectively cutting me off.

"You listen to me, Temperance Brennan. It's okay to be upset. I would be, too, especially if the man I loved died so suddenly."

"I wasn't in love with him." _That doesn't mean I didn't love him, though_, I thought, hoping that Angela's apparent psychic powers would come into play now.

They did. "But you loved him, didn't you?" The tone of her voice wasn't prying. She was trying to confirm something she already knew, something I should have known as well.

"I think so." I looked at her with tears brimming in my eyes, cursing my weakness. "I'm not sure. I don't think I really thought about it." My throat closed up. "I think I did. But it's too late now. He's gone." Tears began to fall freely as I finally allowed myself to open up.

"Angela, I miss him already. Knowing he can't make fun of me, or make references to popular culture that I don't understand, or eat takeout with me, or help me catch the bad guys… I miss him." She held me as I sobbed into her shoulder.

"I wish I could tell you it gets easier, sweetie, but it doesn't. You just have to move on." Her eyes were wet now, too. "You have to just get on with your life and hope you don't fall to pieces along the way."

I handed her a napkin from the stack to my right and took one for myself. "Thanks, Ange." I blew my nose loudly, and the echo in the near-empty bar startled me into near giggles. I really don't react well to alcohol.

"You're welcome, Tempe." She helped me stand up and gently tugged me towards the door. "C'mon, let's go eat gallons of ice cream and watch sad movies and cry all night."

It didn't sound like a bad plan. As I walked through the door into the cool summery air, I thought I heard a whisper on the wind:

_I miss you, too, Temperance._


End file.
